talking to my dearest friend, a stranger,
once, to me and mine, telling me i’m here.
slowing things down so that we confer,
His answer, lo, has never been more clear
Do what we must, throw fire in the hole
approaching the limits of my true love,
loving another has taken its toll,
deprived, as i am, when push comes to shove,
cornered by the metrics, yes, of 4D,
i’m taking one, yesterday, for the team
recovering more than his reality
a shame, nonetheless, to split at the seam.
picking up the pieces after the blast,
my dearest friend, however, gets my drift
leaving this world, surviving on the past,
feeling his extradimensional shift;
pull me over when you get a minute
tell me how, truth be told, Satan must pay,
the man of the hour, now feeling it—
somebody else, living since, rues the day
when the djinns, by now, would resurrect
the moment when He suffered the most,
a function, dear heart, of divine neglect.
We rebuild the foundation for his ghost
living, for a time, a season in hell,
interacting with the best of the best
reclaim the energy that he would sell,
becoming, as he does, His bequest.
talking, then, to my angel—living, as we do, in a sauna; when i recover, remember me this: You are the life that i discover, waking forever from His lucid dreams. i want what you have—i wish i could bottle it; so what you’re feeling, my love, is His desire
you can’t get more beautiful than that, you are the subject of his sleepless nights; we remember things, after a while, nearer, then, my God to thee.